


Empty handed

by redsnake05



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Background Canon Relationship, F/M, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2010-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood has odd spaces and gaps without Jack and his breezy expansiveness. Tosh and Ianto shift to fill these empty spots and find that they fit in a way they'd never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty handed

Jack was gone, and even Myfanwy seemed to know it. Gwen tried to hold them together, shaky and white-faced and leaking all her humanity out in the meeting room so she could face the team with a brave face on. Ianto wished she would admit to her own vulnerability, instead of just insisting they look for it in others. He wasn't sure that he didn't prefer Owen, bitingly sarcastic and deeply in denial. Ianto sometimes felt like Jack had never been there at all, like he'd always been a ghost stalking the corridors and stairwells and pressing behind Ianto with the softest whisper of breath on his neck.

Ianto's hands felt empty all the time, like there was supposed to be a cup of tea or a stack of Torchwood evidence files or a toolkit as an extension of his body. He passed Tosh at her station, watching her pick up and put down her screwdrivers, rearranging them by size, by order of acquisition, by number of times she had used them. He watched the compulsive fluttering, watched her waiting. He knew she watched him too, in the reflection off her screen, in the glass doors, in the shiny surface of the filing cabinets as he sifted through the detritus of years.

Then Ianto found Tosh at the tips of his fingers. Her skin was smooth under his as he handed off a coffee. Their hands brushed every time she held out the right wrench or spanner or screwdriver as he fixed the lights in the sub-basement storage room. She seemed to be inside the reach of his arm all the time, and he wondered how he had never noticed it before, and if he was the one who first reached out, or if it was her.

But she was there, now, and he could see the hard lines of bewilderment and her sense of abandonment easing from her every time he touched her. So he did it more, and she touched back. He wondered if his hard lines were blurring too, into something closer to comfort. It was like they belonged together, with each other. A little subset made up of Tosh and Ianto.

The Hub was best at night. Never quite deserted, or quiet, but resting. The main lights would flicker down and off, but the pilot lights glowed blue and orange and red in little haloes and the stairwells were always doused in a strange orange glow. Ianto came up the last flight to find Tosh limned in clear yellow, sitting at her workstation under her desk lamp and scanning the screen in front of her intently. Ianto's hands made their way to her shoulders, wrapping round the thin bones through her soft shirt, inadvertently tightening when she relaxed her head back into his stomach.

"We just have to wait," she said, finally, reaching out and shutting the open window on the screen, cutting off the CCTV images. Her fingers curled, looking for something to hold, on the edge of her desk, and Ianto's thumbs dug into her neck as his fingers slipped again. She brought her hands up slowly and placed them on top of Ianto's, securing him as he secured her.

"It's not waiting," said Ianto. "I'm not waiting. I want to live without him." It was the first time they had spoken of Jack, here in the soft light and slow-breathing lull of the Hub at night. Tosh's fingers tightened on his, again, her head tilting back on his stomach as she looked up at him. There was no question there, just the calm certainty of comfort, and Ianto looked down at her.

"You're not consolation," he said. She seemed to understand and smiled up at him, slow and a little sad.

"No?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "You're... look, you fit, all right? In my hands."

Tosh's smile turned, the sadness giving way to something soft and warm. Ianto has seen her work and admired the sure way her hands move over her tools, unerringly fitting them to her grasp. He knew she would understand.

"Not here," she said, standing and turning. His hands fell away, opening up the space between them. "I want to take you to my flat. Somewhere we can strip off this place."

Her little car was packed with the fragments of her life at Torchwood. Ianto sat in the front seat and watched her drive, admiring the strength and competence of her fingers. She led him inside, and her flat was devoid of any lingering touch of work, as if the door locked them into a new world. Her hand in his, she took him into the bathroom and their clothes slid off and left them bare of all their armour. Ianto wondered if they could still fit together, without the careful shielding in place, but Tosh reached up and stroked her hand over his jaw, urging him down to meet her. The pieces locked, better than they ever had done before.

The kiss was warm, Tosh's lips mobile and her tongue slick as it invaded his mouth. Ianto felt the insistent, restless crawl of arousal over his skin, creeping slowly. Everywhere they touched was flaring hot with excitement, and Ianto wondered if they'd make it to a bed, if it would be slow or fast, how Tosh would sound when she came the first time. Then Tosh bit his lower lip and Ianto forgot all the anticipation in the delight of the moment.

Ianto laughed a little into the kiss, for the sheer joy of kissing Tosh. She was everywhere around him, real and purposeful, the lines of her body clean and distinct even as the steam rose from the shower. Ianto wanted to fall to his knees, arms wrapped round her and face pressed into her belly, and let her strength flow into him, then wanted to hold her while she recharged from him. There was balance between them, and they stepped under the water and Ianto let the last tendrils of loss and longing swirl down the drain, his hands full of Tosh as the spray beat down around them.

Tosh's hands rubbed over Ianto's skin, slow, rough strokes that made him feel clean and alive. Then soap followed, slick and creamy as she lathered down his arms and across his chest, pressing against him to smooth her hands over his arse. Ianto took the soap from her hands and kissed her as he returned the favour, palms slipping easily over the curve of her shoulders, the rise of her breast, down her side and up the long sweep of her thigh. Tosh giggled as he soaped her ribs, breaking the kiss to bury her face in his neck, kissing and licking there as he moved on to soap fresh skin.

"You feel so good," said Ianto, both hands cupping Tosh's arse and pulling her closer. She pressed against him, kissing again, and her hand slid down the coarse hair on his belly to curve around his cock. He thrust into her grip and groaned.

The water turned off and Ianto opened his eyes as Tosh stepped out, away from him. She handed him a towel that smelled of honeysuckle, and dried herself with the other. Her skin was dark and smooth against the rough cotton towelling and Ianto scrubbed at his body with most of his attention on her. He dropped the towel and reached for her as she dried her hair, tangling his fingers with hers around the back of her head, bending to press kisses to her throat as she tilted her head up.

"You make me feel," he murmured, straight into her skin. He dropped his hands from her hair, stepping back and holding them out to her, palms up, open and waiting for her. Dropping the towel to the floor in a careless heap, she smiled as if she could see all his nerve endings firing under his skin when he was within reach of her. They were naked in the and open, real and solid for each other in the shifting steam. Tosh slid her hands into his and squeezed, the edges of calluses from her tools scraping over his sensitised skin.

"I feel more with you, too," she said. Ianto tugged her out of the bathroom, the cold, dry air a shock on his skin. Tosh giggled at his gasp of dismay and pushed him towards her bedroom, pausing to switch on her heating before following him, both diving under the covers. Tosh's bed was wide and comfortable and the sheets felt cool and sleek under Ianto's side as he propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Tosh. She was laying on her back, arms out over her head, open and comfortable in her skin.

Ianto wanted nothing more than to kiss Tosh again. He wanted to get as close as he could, flush against her skin as they wound around each other in an endless circle of connection. He wanted to shake apart in her arms and hold her as she broke under him. At the same time, he wanted the slow scrape of anticipation over his nerves, lying here next to each other in this room, bare of all the blood and alienation that Torchwood was saturated in. He wanted that to never end, and his fingers were gentle as he traced patterns over the creamy skin of Tosh's shoulder.

Her eyes were dark and intent on his face, absorbing every shade of expression there the same way as he was absorbing every tremor from her skin. He suddenly remembered her face, looking at him over a cup of coffee late at night in the Hub, not long after Lisa's death. She'd watched Ianto watch Jack pace the meeting room, and had leaned forward when Jack had finally left. Ianto had felt her fingers wrap tightly around his wrist, and realised that had maybe been the first time she had ever touched him. 'We all come to love him, eventually,' she had said, 'but he likes to own us all, just a little.' He had wondered then, what she meant.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Ownership," he answered, shaking his head ruefully. "I think I understand now, what you meant." He looked at her, at the way she had raised her hand to curl her fingers round his wrist.

"We've both been behind bars, Ianto," she said, thumb rubbing over the thin skin on the inside of his wrist where his pulse beat so strongly. "Tomorrow, I'll tell you about my cage and the handsome prince who bargained me out of it and into something else I'll never escape." A wash of sadness rippled over her face for an instant and Ianto bent his head to kiss her fingers where they were still twined around his skin. Tosh tugged him closer and the sadness dissolved into a kiss.

Ianto shifted restlessly on the sheets and Tosh pulled him forward until he was braced over her. She fit underneath him, too, thighs pressed hard against his hips and arms snug around his shoulders, bringing him close to nestle against her. The kiss turned hot and wet and Ianto was suddenly nearly frantic. He wanted to taste everything, spreading his hands wide over Tosh's skin, tongue running over everywhere his hands couldn't reach. Tosh cradled him close, arching up against him as his fingers rasped down her breasts and over her nipples. He bent his head and tasted the clean sweat on her neck, kissing down to suck each nipple in turn into his mouth. Tosh's moan drove him on.

He rubbed his face into her belly; wet, open-mouthed kisses scattered over the skin as his hands rubbed up and down her thighs. She tangled one hand in his hair and pushed him lower. He went willingly, wanting to be as close as he could to her. Tosh made a noise low in her throat as he parted her lips and licked straight over her clit. Dry and gasping, it dug into him hard, like her heels into his back as she draped her legs over her neck. The next noise was broken and aching, and Ianto only barely stopped himself from rubbing against the sheets as he licked and nibbled and nudged, losing himself in the pleasure of her pleasure. Balanced and equal.

"Ianto," she gasped, the fingers in his hair clenching and stroking alternately, and the sound of his name on Tosh's tongue drove Ianto harder and higher. She breathed it again, body clenching and shuddering around him, and Ianto could nearly feel her words over his skin, as real as her strong fingers or her toes curling into his back. As real as her taste on his lips and chin as he lifted his head and looked up her body.

Tosh shoved him over on his back, pushing him down hard on the covers. "I want to fuck you," she said.

"Oh, god, I'm never going to argue with you," he said, hands wrapping around her biceps. She leaned over and kissed him, hard, licking her taste right out of his mouth and Ianto groaned. "No arguing at all," he said, again. Tosh leaned over, digging round in the drawer next to the bed. Ianto opened his eyes to watch her slide a condom down over his dick, and he hated the need for separation, even as Tosh settled over him, hands braced on his chest. It felt like they might reach right inside him. He knew he would be open for her, if she asked for that.

Tosh was all heat and glossy skin and hair in the soft light. Her mouth dropped open and she groaned as he thrust up, Ianto's hands on her waist holding her still. She guided one hand up to her breast, the other going down to work over her clit in quick, hard strokes. Twisting, she moved up and down in slick counterpoint to Ianto's thrusts, and Ianto was lost in her. The tranquil planes of her skin, the way her mouth was open and her eyes were dark, it sank into Ianto and filled up parts of him he'd never even known were empty. He felt her convulse around him, moaning loudly, and dug his heels into the sheets, thrusting twice, three times more, coming hard with a long shudder and cut-off gasp.

Tosh pulled the sheets up around their necks after she climbed off and threw the condom in the bin. Ianto felt her settle against his side, and his fingers spanned her ribs and splayed over her back. She fit there, warm and round and strong under the covers with him. Her hand rested on his chest, square over the beating of his heart. He was sure he could feel the strength ebbing and flowing between them, bleeding through their hands into each other. He held on tight and closed his eyes.


End file.
